


Lost In You I Must Find My Way

by poptod



Series: The Kings Love [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Adventure, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Gen, Innocence, Mystery, Mystic Castles, Plot, True Love, Two gay men who happen to own a castle together, fem!queen, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptod/pseuds/poptod
Summary: You're a gardener at the mystic castle Masiloninoff, hidden deep within the Alps, a private getaway owned by two old men, best friends since childhood. Seven women come up one winter, and when one ends up getting lost in the mountains, it's up to you, the person who knows the mountains best, to find her.(Takes place in the 1980's.)





	1. What a Flirt

It was, above all, unexpected to get visitors at this time of the year. Winter was never a good time for sales, despite what one might think. People simply did not want to deal with the snowstorms that the Alps had during winter, instead deciding the green landscapes of spring and summer suited them better. Despite this, every winter you had at least a few customers - enough to keep the castle open.

This winter, it was a group of women. Upon their arrival you and your assistant took their bags, keeping mostly out of their sight. They numbered seven, dressed in extravagantly warm clothing, their luggage matching the decorations they adorned. The owners of the lodge you’d worked out near all your life spoke to them invitingly, showing them the different rooms of the place while you (and your assistant) carried their heavy luggage to designated rooms.

Masiloninoff - a castle lost in time, they often called it. You had implored them many times to _please_ say something less cheesy, but every time they declined. The owner, part of the Vengelfaing family, was himself a relic of the past. A man and his best friend were the actual, legal owners, but they valued dramatic flair above all else, so the castle mainly belonged to Aristotle Vengelfaing. His friend, Orpheus Culpepper, was just the same amount of mystery as Aristotle. Needless to say, they both creeped you out, but they were both like fathers to you.

Edgar Loughty was what you would call the opposite of Aristotle and Orpheus. An ordinary man, taking comfort in statistics and what he could see, hear, and feel. A good man, a family man, whose wife and children also stayed at Masiloninoff, working as a cook and three little devils, respectively. Edgar was the janitor, if you could call him that. He acted more as a butler.

Sarah Jensen was a general helper, assisting Edgar with the washing of laundry and bedsheets, helping his wife Clodagh clean dishes and cook, as well as serve food.

Then there was your assistant. Poor, innocent Inigo J.B. Fernsby who wasn’t usually even referred to by his actual name (much too long) - he was just called ‘gardener’s assistant,’ and you were called ‘gardener.’ How this came about, you had no idea, but it stuck, and you didn’t find yourself minding too much. Gardening was a big passion of yours.

“Gardener! Gardener!” The three little devils (children) ran around you as you dusted. It had been several days since the seven women’s arrival, and the children were, as always, antsy.

“Yes?” You sighed, not turning to look at them.

“Those girls are making a whole lot a’ noise and it’s ruining our game!”

“What game is this one again?”

“The one where we try to find each other by sound but - but we can’t hear where we are if they’re yelling the whole time!”

Hmm, that’s fair. It was one of the better games they played, because it made most of them have to be really quiet, instead of really loud. Finally you payed attention, setting your duster on top of an old bookcase in the darkened lounge.

“Alright, I’ll go make a noise complaint. I’ll say it’s from you,” you said, wiping your mildly sweaty hands off on your pants.

“Don’t say it’s from us!” One of them said, tugging harsh on your pants, nearly tugging them down. Sometimes loose pants weren’t a blessing.

“Then who shall I say it’s from?” You asked, kneeling down to their level. They giggled deviously, giving each other grins and sly looks before replying in unison.

“Sarah!”

Yes, the American girl. She couldn’t stand children but she loved her job more than anything else. The children were obviously planning this in hopes that the seven women would get angry at Sarah, in retaliation for some impudent behavior she’d punished them for.

“Alright,” you agreed, not especially caring. You’d try not to mention who it was, but if you had to, you’d probably say Sarah, and explain to her what happened afterwards.

Up grand staircases you walked, covered in red carpet with intricate gold designs of lions and angels. Dark oak wood made up the banisters, tapestries lining delicately carved walls. Your hand skimmed the railing as you walked upwards, hearing the yelling of the women grow louder.

You reached the door that all the noise was coming from, knocking with loud conviction twice. As always, you used the lion head to knock.

“What the _hell_ do you want?!” One of them yelled, followed by thundering footsteps and a click of the lock. You stepped backwards as it flung open, hands folded behind your back. The woman who had opened it looked far less dignified, long curly hair practically blinding her face from view.

“I’ve gotten several noise complaints about your yelling. Would you mind… not doing that noise thing you’re doing…?”

“Who told you that?” She asked in a snarl, three other women coming up behind her, just as furious and red in the face. The remaining three seemed to be quietly conversing in the corner.

“The children told me to tell you it was Sarah Jensen, the maid,” you explained quietly.

“What’s your name? I’ll get you fired,” she hissed.

“Maggie! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you _that_ angry. Gives me the jitters,” a blonde said with a smile, mimicking a shiver running dramatically through her body.

“Turns me on,” another said, brown hair in a puffed up perm.

“WOULD YOU SHUT UP?!”

“Maggie, darling, if we _must_ yell, this kindly worker is telling us to take it outside, right?” The final one, black hair slicked back and shining, spoke. It was the first time you really looked at her, _really_ looked at her, observing every curve of her face, how a few hairs fell over her eyes. You looked pointedly away. Getting crushes on customers simply wasn't an option.

“Yes, that’s mostly what I’m saying,” you half nodded, half shrugged. You supposed they could continue yelling if it was outside, so long as it didn’t cause an avalanche, but you weren’t really in avalanche territory.

“Then let’s take it outside. After you,” the black haired woman gestured dramatically out the door, allowing who you assumed was Maggie out first. She huffed, rolling her eyes, but stepped gracefully out of the room anyways. You took two more steps back, allowing the four women to exit, leaving the three in the room, still conversing in a sane manner. You gave them a curt nod, locking the door again.

To ensure they made it outside, and didn’t get lost within the maze of the castle, you followed them. Just to the door of the frost laced garden, opening it for them and letting them out like well trained, pissed off dogs.

Afterwards, you returned to cleaning duty.

“Wonderful to see the girls outside,” Aristotle said in his old, croaking voice, shaking as he spoke, shaking as he walked. He leaned heavily on a gold handled and dark oak cane, his three piece, silver suit hanging off his thin body. His hair, however, was still well endowed, a beard flowing from chin to waist, silver and soft.

“Why do you suppose that?” You asked, turning respectfully to look at him. Your duster was still in your hands, folded in front of you.

“They get to enjoy your garden,” he said with a smile, nudging you with his elbow. It poked into your skin.

“It’s winter, Mr. Vengelfaing,” you said, gesturing out the windows. Outside, a thin sheet of snow covered the ground.

“Doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy the living things you keep,” he said, winking at you, and leaving. He was always just a little odd like that, always referring to visitors as old friends, or, in this case, as ‘the girls,’ as though he’d known them for forever.

You continued cleaning, finishing up dusting the lounge and moving on to the dining room.

“How does a beauty like you end up locked away in a big old castle?”

The woman from before - with the slick hair. You recognized the voice.

“By choice. Otherwise, I’d be calling the coppers,” you said, staying focused on making sure the table was shining. You’d move onto the china cabinets next.

“Got a sense of humour, do you?” She laughed coyly, stepping close to you and leaning on the table with her back.

“Depends on what you find funny.”

“I find you funny. Charming, too. And beautiful,” she said, her voice trailing off as her hand raised. She just barely brushed your hair back.

Was it allowed for you to say ‘fuck off,’ to staying customers? Didn’t matter, neither Aristotle nor Orpheus probably even knew what ‘fuck’ meant.

“Fuck off,” you said, not having once turned to face her. Her hands withdrew, raising in a defensive position.

“Alright, alright,” she said, and you caught her smile out of the corner of her eye. She noticed you looking, she must have, because just as you looked away you saw her smirk.

“Your assistant is a lot nicer than you are,” she noted as she walked towards the door.

“A lot of people think that.”

She hummed, and left.

A few minutes later, you realized you weren’t going to get peace and quiet till these women left. Inigo came into the room, alerting you that the girls in the kitchen needed some help making dinner.

“Isn’t two people enough?” You grumbled to yourself, being answered by Inigo.

“No, not even four. Edgar and I have been helping, they say they want you for decoration assortments or whatever,” he said, his step still cheery and bright despite chores. Then again, he sort of liked baking. You did not, but you were good with food assortment.

That was, ultimately, what you were tasked with. Cheeses and different collections of crackers needed to be served, and they needed to be served in an orderly fashion, not thrown onto a plate like chaotic antipasto, though you were serving that too. Most of the time Sarah and Clodagh had time to think over their assortment, giving it thought and care, thus not needing your fast arranging expertise. Tonight was, quite obviously, not one of those nights.

Seven women, and the two masters of the house were to eat, coming to a total of nine, which was a lot more than normal.

The kitchen was for the most part chaotic. The doors were locked so the little devils couldn’t get in, but that made it seem all that much more crowded. It wasn’t exactly a large room to start off with, and with five people bustling around, trying to do their job and apologizing profusely whenever they so much as brushed another person, it had become just a tad annoying.

At long last Edgar unlocked the doors, the thumping of the three little devils having subsided, and the dishes ready for dinner and ready to be served.

“I’ll go call them down,” Edgar announced, leaving to get the visitors. Clodagh left behind him, heading off to probably get Aristotle and Orpheus.

“I’ll set the table,” you offered, quickly stopped by Sarah.

“You don’t know a steak knife from a butter knife, I’ll do it. You stay in here and make sure those devils don’t eat anything. They actually listen to you sometimes,” Sarah said, stopping you from walking out the door before passing herself. In the next room you heard the silverware box being opened, a telltale click of a lock being unlocked.

Without further hitch the dinner proceeded as planned. The whole group helped in serving appetizers, main courses, and desserts, each one of you assigned to two people, except Edgar. He claimed being the oldest made him deserving of only having to serve Aristotle. You, on the other hand, served the dark haired woman, and a small, timid woman who seemed far too anxious to be there.

“I do love someone who can cook,” the dark haired woman said cooly, her voice smooth and lulling.

“I’ll give your compliments to our chef, Clodagh,” you replied quietly, unveiling the main course in front of her. A moment later you came back with the timid woman’s dinner. She thanked you weakly, looking on the verge of passing out.

True to your word, when there was a lull as the guests ate, you told Clodagh that the woman liked her cooking.

“Which one was that? What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. It’s the one with the slicked hair, and the mildly outrageous outfit,” you said, remembering a brightly sequined silver jacket paired with tight, black pants and a thin shirt.

“Oh, I think that one’s Melina. Nice name, isn’t it?”

“… I guess so.”

That night, the yelling started up again. You expected it to come up again, but not when you had just changed into night clothes, and when your heater was just getting up and started.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself, looking up at the ceiling to where you heard the voices.

“It doesn’t need to go slower, it’s a goddamn rock song! Not a fucking disco ballad!” Came one of the voices from one of their rooms. They’d actually rented out five rooms, so it game them no excuse as to why they stayed in one, yelling at each other the whole time.

“First off, disco ballads aren’t a thing, and you’re going to make it fast enough that no one will hear the lyrics!”

“Oh, the lyrics aren’t that important, the music is!”

“I wrote the fucking lyrics!!”

You knocked on the door loudly, twice, in even beats, as always. A loud, exasperated sigh sounded from the other side, and soft footsteps padded their way to the door.

“Yes?” The woman with a fluffy perm poked her head out, looking positively exhausted.

“Noise level again, sorry. It’s past 20, and everyone is going to sleep. Might be best if you all went to sleep as well,” you suggested, gesturing to the other rooms they’d bought that lined the guest hallway.

“I wish they’d listen to me,” the woman sighed, eyes red with hidden tears.

“Bed time you lot!” You called into the room. All pacing stopped, and harsh whispers to one another quieted as they shuffled out, embarrassed by their own antics.

“Good night dearie,” Melina said to you, bowing her head slightly as she went into her room. She returned alone, while Maggie, and the blonde left with one of the quieter women each. Left in the previously loud room was the woman with the perm, and one calmer girl, the both of them seemingly grateful for the quiet.

“Thank you. Good night,” she said with a smile, closing the door gently and locking it.

You sighed to yourself, a breath of relief, before returning to your own room. Peace and quiet at last, wrapped up in warm covers that smelled just a little musty, but comfortingly familiar. Outside, snow rained down in sparse flakes, reflecting pale moonlight as the only way you could see them.


	2. Kindness in its Detriment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Melina isn't all that bad.

Morning broke early, shining through the window. You hadn’t closed the curtains the night before, on purpose, allowing you to wake early to finish some morning chores. A breakfast bar had to be set out, and there was a different dining area for breakfast than there was for dinner.

You crawled out of bed, the warmth of the heater doing it’s proper job of not freezing your feet off. In a few minutes unruly hair was properly brushed, a white button up and brown ankle banded pants donned, and you were out the door.

In the kitchen, Clodagh was setting out different breads and cheeses out on a spinning platter, while Sarah was dealing with different fruits and a large container of yogurt.

“Need any help?” You asked, hands folded behind your back.

“We’re alright. You can take the finished dishes out though,” Sarah said, flashing a quick smile before returning back to her duties. You nodded without word, grabbing the platter of various meats and taking them to the breakfast dining area.

This room was much different than the dinner dining area. It was well lit by sunlight, the walls painted a stark white, decorated in blue and gold trimmings. The ceiling above was painted with images of angels and other religious faces, art that you could admire for purely being art. In the middle of the room was a long table, acting as a food bar for people to simply stack their own plates.

As you continued refilling plates and setting them out people began filing in, the first being Maggie. Besides her first outburst at you, she seemed the most responsible. After she arrived the other girls began showing up, then followed by Aristotle and Orpheus, who always woke up late, and always at the same time.

They were oddly coordinated like that.

Once everything was cleaned up, you went over the list of chores that day - later that night, you had to play piano for the lounge, and another dinner, along with more basic cleanings. Fortunately for you, it wasn’t your job to clean the armours and swords. That wonderful gem of a job belonged to Edgar, for which you were eternally grateful.

Until that moment where you would be forced to be around those seven women, you made every attempt to avoid them. Any noise complaints (three that day) were redirected to Sarah, who would alert the women to their transgression. On the third time, she came back to you with a message.

Peacefully cleaning up the kitchen in Sarah’s place, she tapped you on the shoulder, an odd look on her face.

“Melina says she misses you,” Sarah said, a curious and overall confused expression. You had no idea how to respond to something like that, so you didn’t, instead shrugging with wide eyes to convey your own confusion.

“I think she likes you,” Sarah said offhandedly, picking up where you left off on cleaning the kitchen. She took the rag from you, wiping down the counters.

“That’s fine and all, as long as she doesn’t flirt with me. It’s almost unbearable, I’ve been avoiding her all day,” you sighed, leaning back on a finished counter, head tilted towards the ceiling.

“Can’t ignore her all day Gardener, you’ve got lounge duty this evening. Dress up and all,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m fully aware.”

Eve came quicker than you expected it to. Before you knew you were dressed in your own professional attire, crisp black and white, freshly laundered clothing that matched the monochrome the rest of your coworkers wore. Aristotle, a self proclaimed god of style, said it matched the gold and red drapes of the lounge.

All eight of you entered before the masters and before the guests, setting the place up, fluffing cushions, lighting candles. The curtains were drawn back, allowing a beautiful view of the sun setting over snow laden mountains. Edgar was excellent at bartending, so he was set up behind the counter, a small apron tied around his waist. You sat in the corner, in front of an eight foot, sleek black wood piano.

Generally speaking, you were supposed to be playing background music. For Aristotle and Orpheus this meant classical music, namely from the romantic period, while Ravel was their favourite composer. However, for most people, background music was good jazz, like Cole Porter, which is what you usually played. Neither of them complained most of the time.

Right as the sun settled itself in the junction of two mountains Orpheus opened the doors, allowing in the guests and Aristotle. Your music started, playing first ‘Ours,’ which would be followed by ‘True Love.’ They were personal favourites.

Most everyone flocked to the bar, getting drinks that were far too alcoholic for your own tastes. You preferred wine over hard liquor.

You flew through the songs, going from one to the next without processing that it was a new song, only stopping to appreciate the ease of some melodies that you knew better than others.

“You play well,” came the easy comment, the speaker obviously being Melina. Her voice practically haunted you, soft as summer skies and smooth as scotch.

“… Thank you,” you replied after a moment, expecting her to add some sort of flirtation on the end.

“How long have you been playing?”

_Focus on the music._

“Since I was four. My mother insisted, I was taught by my grandmother. She studied with Rosina Lhévinne.”

“Really? She’s quite good.”

“Understatement of the year,” you chuckled, flipping the page quickly. Melina came to stand next to you, eyes trailing the page you played, watching your fingers move slow and graceful across white keys in the easy key.

“I… never studied. I know how to play though,” she said after a while of just listening to your music.

“You’re allowed to play if you like. Just make it good,” you said, looking up to her as the song ended. She laughed, smile wide and sweeter than any other. You froze, mouth opening ever so slightly as you lost control of your own movements. How beautiful she was - it was all you could see.

“No, I’m alright. I play for a living. Me, and Maggie, Liz, Deaky - we’re all in a band.” Through hair identifications she pointed each of them out to you till you could recognize them easily, telling you all the instruments they played, what they were like, in and out of work.

“Deaky’s actual name is Belicia, but her last name is Deacon, so, you know. Nicknames,” Melina shrugged, chuckling to herself.

“You the nickname type?”

“Most definitely. I gave them all alternate personas actually.”

She proceeded to explain how she liked to give opposite gendered names to her friends, sometimes being wildly different from their actual name, sometimes quite similar. Liz was Roger, which wasn’t at all similar, Maggie’s alter ego was Brian, while her own was Freddie.

“What about Belicia?”

“… Not sure yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“What about me? Off the fly,” you requested, simply curious as to what she’d pick. She stopped a moment, looking you over before deciding.

“I’ll call you Cookie.”

“Makes me sound like a stripper,” you snorted, the piano in front of you complete forgotten.

“Darling, your piano?” Melina pointed with her head to your keyboard, making you startle out of the conversation.

“Oh! Yes, sorry, got distracted,” you mumbled, opening up your music to another song and beginning once more.

“That distracting, am I?” She laughed, pulling a nearby chair over and sitting next to you. You shrugged, eyes intent on the music.

“It’s not that bad.”

You got through three songs, more difficult due to key (which you tried not to complain about), before Melina spoke again.

“Who’s your personal favourite musician?”

“Like a band?”

“No, anything you’d like,” she said, voice quiet as the music decrescendos.

“I like Debussy. Especially the Reverie pieces,” you answered, feeling heat in your cheeks. No one ever asked you these sorts of questions - no one ever knew the people.

“See, I like Satie. Erik Satie, he’s before Debussy, but I like him as well.”

“I’ve… never heard of Erik Satie,” you admitted bashfully. You prided yourself on your classical music knowledge.

“I’m not sure many have. It’s a shame really,” she leaned towards you, looking at your music but breathing deep, even breaths. “He’s quite good.”

“Maybe you could play something by him sometime. The piano’s always open to people who know how to play,” you murmured, trying not to notice the heat coming off her body, permeating the clothes you wore and caressing your skin.

“I think I’d like that. If you like Debussy you’ll like Satie.”

Not a minute later Melina was called back over to the bar by the woman you now recognized as Liz. She left with a smile and a thank you, following the call of her friends’ beckoning hand. You kept playing though you wanted to follow her, wondering how Satie sounded.

In the middle of the room, Orpheus and Aristotle danced together like a married couple, earning the laughs of a few and the wonder of others. For some guests that stayed in the castle, the wonder came from the fact that they danced so easily together, since they were both male. Many assumed that it'd be clunky, but the two had been dancing together longer than you'd been alive. For other guests, the wonder simply came from how they actually danced in their old age.

Eventually the guests were called in for that nights’ dinner, and you wondered how they could afford staying so long at the castle. Most people could only afford a single night, what with the upkeep on rooms, and the practically decadent food.

You weren’t there for that, though - you and your assistant needed to tend to the indoor plants, and with food being prepared beforehand, you weren’t at all needed. Instead, you and Fernsby went around the castle with a highly decorated watering can that probably cost more than your salary, watering the various plants that lined the hallways. Another quick job, one that Fernsby preferred doing, was replacing the roses in the rooms. You never liked doing that, so it was left to him.

Downstairs, a crash sounded, along with the putridly loud voices of the girls obviously arguing again.

“Dear God I hope dinners already finished,” you sighed, rolling your eyes as you headed downstairs, your assistant in tow.

“They wouldn’t break a dish, right? They’re so kind. Those dishes cost a lot! They wouldn’t do that, right?” He asked, trailing behind you with a multitude of questions.

“I don’t know, Fernsby, that’s why we’re checking it out,” you said through gritted teeth as you jogged down the flight of stairs.

The source of the yelling, to your own surprise and Fernsby’s relief, was the lounge. You opened the door slowly, seeing a chair knocked over.

“Chair must’ve made the noise,” you whispered to your assistant, who was peeking out with you. Opening the door fully you entered, hoping to have a word with the four arguing women. This _couldn’t_ be allowed to continue.

Before you could get a word in Melina stomped past you, not recognizing that you were even there. The three women she left behind looked terribly embarrassed as she walked right out the front door and into the dead of night.

“I’ll go get her, she shouldn’t be out at this time,” you said to the three women, gesturing towards the large front door.

“No, let her cool off,” Maggie suggested in a quiet voice, obviously feeling remorseful.

“She’ll come back of her own accord in a bit,” Belicia added, giving you a curt smile before making a walk of shame back to her bedroom, Maggie and Liz soon to follow.

“It is sort of dangerous for her to be out, right?” Fernsby asked in a murmur, his eyes staring out into the dark that awaited Melina.

“Not sort of. It is. If she’s not back by tomorrow we’re in trouble... better leave the outside light on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really liking this so far! hoping y'all are as well!

**Author's Note:**

> honestly beginning to regret deciding to make four separate books for each fem!queen character. i've got a load of work to do and no one to read it.


End file.
